


Sitting in the Middle of 42nd Street

by RileyC



Series: Getting To Know You, Getting To Know All About You [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Cinematic Universe, Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Identity Porn, M/M, Romantic Comedy, Slow Burn, So slow this may wind up gen, SuperBat, but probably not
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-20
Updated: 2017-11-20
Packaged: 2019-01-20 09:56:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12430368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RileyC/pseuds/RileyC
Summary: Picking up where "Night and Day" left off...Clark is exasperated, Bruce is self-deluding, Lois smells a story. That's about it.





	Sitting in the Middle of 42nd Street

_Just back from helping to rescue trapped coal miners in Turkey, all Clark wanted right that minute was a long, hot shower. So naturally he had no sooner stepped into the tub and ducked his head under the shower head than someone pounded on his apartment door._

_The water felt good. He could ignore the knocks. It was probably Mrs. Fisher from down the hall, wondering if he’d seen her cat Bitsy. He knew exactly where the cat was: buried in a sunny spot out in the postage stamp of a backyard. “Poor thing passed away ten years ago. Must’ve been twenty or more,” Mr. Fisher had confided in him one day. “My Mitzi, though, she forgets.”_

_He sighed, braced his arms against the tiles and shook his head, scattering water droplets. He got out, pulled on sweats and a t-shirt, scrubbing at his head with a towel as he went to answer the door._

_Clark hesitated, though, used his x-ray vision to check it wasn’t Girl Scouts or Jehovah’s Witnesses. It wasn’t._

_Dorothy Parker was reputed to have said, “What fresh hell is this?” whenever she opened her door. Clark found himself in sympathy with her as he considered his early morning visitor._

_Or was this more of a lady or the tiger situation?_

_Contemplating that, Clark opened the door and Bruce Wayne breezed on inside._

 

**~Sitting in the Middle of 42 nd Street~**

 

Bruce tossed a briefcase on the couch, deposited a bag fragrant with donuts and coffee on the kitchen counter, and handed Clark a folded newspaper. “It’s the bit circled in red,” he explained as he shrugged out of his overcoat and draped it over the couch.

Dorothy Parker had been one hundred percent on the money, Clark decided as he read the item in question. He stared at Bruce, shook his head as if that would dislodge what had to be an hallucination, and read the item again. Nope, it was still there:

 

_Here’s one to ponder, boys and girls. What prince of playboys (hint hint: his name’s all over town) has been spotted canoodling with a nerdilicious hunk of handsome reporter from across the bay? Put on your thinking caps, kiddos, and watch this space for more revelations!_

 

“What is this?” Clark understood the words. What lay behind them, on the other hand…

“Stage one of my plan.”

“Oh good, you have a plan.” Maybe it was all right. It was one blind item in a gossip column in the _Gotham Star_ , the kind of tabloid trash used for lining litter boxes. What were the odds Perry would see it? What were the odds Lois would? “You hate me, don’t you?”

If a cat with a mouthful of canary could smirk, it would have looked exactly like Bruce. “Not at all, darling.” He patted Clark’s cheek. “We’re about to embark on the whirlwind romance of the century.”

Clark stared at him, reminding himself it would be wrong to incinerate him on the spot.

~*~

Bruce had found a clue. No surprise it hadn’t popped out at anyone else since Clark Kent was the only one who saw a connection between the murders.

Truth be told, Bruce had lined up all the evidence in hopes of finding proof Kent had misconstrued everything. In that event Bruce would have been free to wash his hands of the murders, of Kent, and walk away.

Fate clearly had it in for him.

“The victims weren’t just looking for love via LonelyHearts,” he said. “They were two-timing their current significant others while they were using the site. Do you have plates?”

Kent, still looking like he had a stick up his butt, pointed at the cabinet in the tiny kitchen. “Who says two-timing anymore? Who says significant other?”

“You’d prefer ‘engaged in unlawful fornication with non-designated fuck buddies?’” As he spoke, Bruce took in details of the kitchen. Exposed brick painted white, plants lined up in bright-colored planters on the windowsill, a beat up wooden shelf providing some extra pantry space all added up to a surprisingly cozy space with just enough elbow room. The only cookbook appeared to be a spiral notebook splayed open on the counter, to Mom’s Chocolate Chunk Cookies. Bruce thought about that as he located plates, selected one, and emptied the donuts out on it, but didn’t immediately arrive at any conclusions.

Kent gave him another hard stare. “Not really, no. Is that a Boston cream?” he asked as Bruce set the plate down on a distressed, low profile steamer trunk doing duty as a coffee table. An antique or a Dumpster find? Bruce considered. Or maybe a souvenir from a Kansas farmhouse.

“I believe it is.” Bruce set the plate down on the coffee table and made himself comfortable on the couch. “Have a seat.” He patted the cushions, angled the Boston cream towards Kent as the other perched on the edge of a cushion.

“You’re deranged.”

“It’s been suggested.” Bruce shrugged it off, nudged the plate closer. “The point is, that gives us two ways the victims are connected.” He picked up one of the coffees and took a sip. “That’s a violation of the site’s terms of service agreement incidentally.”

Kent nodded. His fingers twitched towards the donut as he showed signs of getting with the program. “When you sign up, you promise you are not currently in a relationship. It’s a good faith policy. I couldn’t find anything about penalties attached if someone lied.”

“You read the terms of service?” Bruce was careful not to let it show he was impressed.

“Of course.” Apparently convinced the Boston cream wasn’t drugged or poisoned, Kent finally picked it up and took a bite. Bruce tried to remember the last time he had enjoyed a simple pleasure the way Kent did that donut, licking up the oozing cream. It could have been erotic. It wasn’t. All Bruce felt was a ridiculous buzz of satisfaction that he’d done something Kent liked.

This would be so much simpler if it was lust. If he didn’t feel himself teetering dangerously close to liking Clark Kent.

Well, if his plan worked, Kent would quickly become fed up with him and be overjoyed to see the last of him when the case was wrapped up. That would have to do for solving this particular problem. And if that prospect had held more appeal for him in the abstract, Bruce was confident he could rein in any stray, random yearnings that might wander by now he was presented with Clark Kent in the flesh.

Boston cream devoured, Kent took a swig of coffee, eyed another donut--pumpkin spice this time--and said, speculating out loud,“I don’t suppose that could be the motive, though.” He looked over at Bruce. “Could someone be enraged at members violating the terms of service?”

“I…” Bruce cocked his head, thinking about it, tempted for a moment to dismiss it as far too bizarre of a motive. Twenty years of fighting crime in Gotham had shown him there was no such thing as __too__  out there, however. He shook his head. “That would be a unique motive, and it might factor in, but I don’t think we’ll find it’s the driving force behind the murders.”

“You think it’s the…” Kent pursed his mouth a bit, “the two-timing significant others thing.”

“If I promised to give a million dollars to your favorite charity, would you say ‘fornicating fuck buddies?’”

Kent just gave him another look of severe disapproval. “How do they find the victims?” he continued. “Are they members of LonelyHearts? Do they work for it?”

“That’s what we’re going to figure out.” He studied Kent’s face, purely for scientific reasons, struck by…something. “It’s the glasses,” he murmured, half to himself.

Kent blinked, the blue of his eyes more intense without the glasses as a barrier. “The glasses?” A blush, an actual blush, burned across his cheekbones and he ducked his head as if to hide it.

“You look different without them. You should try contacts.”

“Wouldn’t that make me less nerdilicious?” Kent returned, a dash of acid in his voice.

Bruce smiled. “I’m not sure actual fashion accessories are required for that.”

“Hmm.”

“And why are you damp, by the way?” Not that damp was a bad look for him. Bruce especially liked the way his hair was fluffed out, curls untamed. In fact, with Kent barefoot, and wearing nothing but a pair of sweats riding low on his lips and a t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, Bruce was experiencing an inappropriate yearning or two. Kent might have just rolled out of bed. A warm bed, sheets rumpled, a not-quite-sated lover sprawled there and eager for Kent’s return-- Bruce blinked, shook his head, and focused on what Kent was saying. That this took far more effort that it should have was noted as a potential cause for concern.

“I was about to take a shower when you knocked. I thought it might be Mrs. Fisher about her cat.”

“What about her cat?” Bruce asked, picturing a sultry divorcée with designs on Kent, and using her cat, probably some smoosh-faced Persian, or maybe a disdainful Siamese, to scheme her way into his life. Not that it was any of his business.

“She forgets it’s dead sometimes. I listen to her memories about it. It seems to help.” Kent’s broad shoulders lifted in a shrug and he shifted around, as if anticipating a smart ass remark.

Bruce didn’t have one. He felt like an ass for imagining Mrs. Fisher as a seductive femme fatale. “That’s…sweet,” he said, and grimaced at the way that came out. “I mean it. That’s…very thoughtful.”

Kent nodded, accepting that.

An awkward silence threatened to move in and put down roots. To circumvent that, Bruce said, “So, go finish your shower. I can entertain myself. I even promise not to snoop around and discover your secrets.”

“My…” Kent looked away again, looked all around the room, in fact, with a weird look of intense concentration, and nodded to himself after a moment. “Snoop away,” he said and got to his feet.

“It’s no fun if you invite me to.”

Kent rolled his eyes, took another swig of coffee, and headed for what must be the bedroom, with bathroom en suite. “By the way,” he turned back, a wicked glint in his eyes that took Bruce unawares and notched up the yearnings. “Fornicating fuck buddies,” he said, and closed the door behind him.

Bruce bit his lip against the smile that wanted to break out. Assured he had that under control, he called out, “What charity?”

The door opened and Kent poked his head out. “You weren’t kidding?”

“I never kid about a million dollars, Kent.”

“Oh. Umm… The Smallville Black Zero Recovery Fund?”

“Consider it done.” Fleetingly, it crossed his mind this might not be the best way to earn Kent’s disdain. He dismissed the thought with a shrug and reached for his briefcase.

~*~

Well that was new, Lois thought as she eyed the car parked outside Clark’s building.

She got out of the cab, paid the driver, and took a close-up inventory of the car. The General had never had the time of day for what he called flashy cars--“Who needs a Ferrari when you’ve got a Humvee.” She and Lucy had not shared his opinion. Where other teenage girls had pinups of boy bands and hot, hunky actors on their walls, the two of them had put up pictures of the dream cars they would own one day. Well, with a few boy bands and hunks interspersed.

Now Lucy was suburban mom and drove a Honda CR-V, while Lois tooled around in a ten-year-old Ford Focus. Also known as: real life happens.

Still, it was a free world, and she could pause and lust in her heart for a moment if she wanted to. A car liked this warranted that.

Metallic blue, with a convertible top--sensibly left up--it was a Porsche 911 Carrerra Cabriolet: 370 hp at 6500 rpm; 0 to 60 in 4.6 seconds; top track speed 180 miles per hour; with a six-figure starting price to pop the fantasy balloon. Not that she spent a _lot_  of time window shopping online or anything.

So what was a car like that doing in a neighborhood like this? It was a good neighborhood, exactly the kind of place Clark had been looking for when she had helped him with his apartment hunting. It wasn’t a Porsche 911 kind of place, though, and she really didn’t think Clark would have traded his bike in on a razzle-dazzle sports car, even if he could cough up that kind of money. This was the kind of car an A-list celebrity tooled around in, or that a 45-year-old executive having a midlife crisis went out and bought. She thought about some more as she noted the Gotham City plates.

She thought about it all the way up to Clark’s apartment and therefore couldn’t claim to be entirely taken by surprise when the door opened and Bruce Wayne stood there. Despite the prep time, this development still took some getting used to.

Wearing the vapid smile of a thousand tabloid photos, Gotham City’s playboy prince said, “I’m Bruce Wayne, but you probably know that.” Before Lois could think of how to reply to that, or introduce herself, he pointed a finger at her. “Wait, don’t tell me, I’ve got this. You’re Superman’s girlfriend, Lois Lane! Am I right?”

Why, oh why, Lois thought, couldn’t she be the one who shot laser beams from her eyes?

 

=======

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't the case fic. This the prelude to the case fic. And it's been sitting around here in drafts since before Halloween because I had a hankering to use a couple of Halloween/autumn prompts for a fic in this series, but then had to come up with this sort of bridge fic first, and... Well, Halloween is over and done now but that's what happens when you're struggling to get anything done. AO3 had it scheduled for deletion today so I decided to rescue it. Hopefully that was a good decision.
> 
> Anyway, the plan now is this fic, then the Halloween/autumn one (in hopes no one really cares if holiday-themed fic is actually concurrent with the holiday in question), and then, finally, the case fic. We know what they say about best laid plans and all that, however.
> 
> Oh, the title: Ehhhh... Google it; you'll see. And if you've never seen the movie, it is highly recommended that you correct that. Beyond supplying the title for this, however, there is no other relevance to this fic. At least to the best of my knowledge.


End file.
